


Go To Phase Three

by perpetualwhim



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Stark Spangled Banner - Freeform, Voyeurism, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6864961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetualwhim/pseuds/perpetualwhim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's plan to seduce Bruce is thrown off the rails by a mission gone awry--not that Tony's complaining much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go To Phase Three

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from something heavy I was writing, so here's 6700 words of Tony/Bruce sex pollen with bonus Voyeur Steve. Might be considered mild dubcon due to mind-altering drugs, but nobody does anything they wouldn't otherwise want to.

Tony Stark had two different ways of approaching problems: balls-to-the-wall full speed ahead, or very cautiously, with an overly-complicated multi-phase plan. There was no middle ground. Frankly, any sort of middle ground sounded unbearably dull.

A Tony Stark seduction usually called for the first approach. Generally, the longer he let someone mull over the real-world consequences of being seduced by Tony Stark, the less successful said seduction was likely to be. Ideal results were obtained through a combination of charm, improvisation, and sheer intensity that led to a lot of rushed, energetic sex that in most cases never happened again.

Operation Seduce Bruce Banner was a different story. Tony knew within about ten seconds of meeting Bruce that "full speed ahead" wasn't going to get him anywhere; Bruce's grip when Tony shook his hand was practiced and restrained, giving Tony a glimpse of the barest shadow of the man's self-control, and the way he ducked his head and glanced away, lips pressed together, when Tony complimented him told Tony everything he needed to know about how he'd respond to a reckless seduction. 

So Tony planned and schemed, drawing Bruce closer in tiny increments over weeks and months. Phase One was entirely hands-off--well, not _entirely_ , but as much as Tony was capable of, anyway--and was focused mainly on lavishing Bruce with gifts of scientific equipment, creature comforts, time, and attention until he stopped talking as if he was going to have to flee back to India at any moment. Tony spent about four weeks on Phase One before moving into Phase Two, which took enough patience that he was pretty sure it qualified him for some form of sainthood.

Phase Two involved getting Bruce used to casual touching and minor physical expressions of affection, and would have been thoroughly enjoyable if not for the even-more-astronomical amounts of patience and self-control Tony had to apply. It wasn't so bad on an average day (inasmuch as there was such a thing as an "average day" in the lives of the Avengers), when Tony could bump shoulders with Bruce as he brought him coffee in the R&D labs, or clap him on the back during a brainstorming session, or poke his hand excitedly while they chattered over Indian takeout. But whenever there was an emergency or an incident that required the Avengers to intervene, it felt like Tony lost at least a day of progress. Tension would settle across Bruce's shoulders, and he'd seem to draw in on himself as he switched into problem-solving mode. Tony's casual touches would be deflected or ignored, and the rare cases when Bruce would reciprocate would vanish entirely.

So it was more than a little frustrating when, after almost a week of peace, Tony was interrupted from his animated demonstration of his newest miniaturized repulsion schematics--one arm draped easily over Bruce's shoulder while the other gestured rapidly at the holographic display in front of them--by an urgent call from Natasha. Bruce's patient smile evaporated as JARVIS patched the call through, and Tony let his hand linger for just a second longer with a pang of frustration and regret before he straightened up and addressed the more urgent issue.

"I'm guessing this isn't a social call," he said as the call connected.

"Good guess." Natasha's voice was clipped and professional as always, but there was a note of strain in it. "We're about three minutes out. Rogers needs medical attention." In the background, Tony could hear Steve groan, but it didn't sound like a groan of pain. If anything, it sounded like frustration.

Bruce was already closing out his files and gathering his things. "What's the situation?" Tony asked. "Is he stable?"

"Yes," said Natasha, while in the background, Steve said, "I'm _fine_." Tony could practically hear Natasha roll her eyes. "He's been drugged. Some kind of attempt at truth serum; we're pretty sure we got him out before anything was compromised, but we need him under observation, and not by SHIELD."

Tony grimaced involuntarily--a member of the Avengers dosed up with truth serum sounded like the stuff Nick Fury's wet dreams were made of, and about the last thing on earth any of them wanted. God bless Natasha and her blackened, mistrustful heart. "Got it," he said, shutting down the holographic display with a flick of his wrist. "34th floor medical lab--we'll be ready for you."

When Natasha and Clint staggered into the lab almost exactly three minutes later, Tony was treated to a sight he thought he'd never see: Steve Rogers supported between them, flushed and stumbling, and alternating between irritation and helpless giggling. Steve's metabolism was far too efficient for alcohol to affect him in any meaningful way, but Tony was immensely grateful that JARVIS had direct access to the entire building's security cameras, because this was apparently what it looked like when Captain America got drunk, and he didn't want to forget the sight any time soon. 

The embodiment of American ideals and human perfection was currently sitting on the edge of an exam table, drumming his heels against the side while he poked at his own lips with a furrowed brow. He glanced up, noticing Tony staring at him, and blurted out, "my face feels weird," before dissolving into helpless giggling. Tony noted the time so he could pull that from the security footage later. It looked like Christmas was coming early this year for fans of embarrassing Captain America--so, basically, Tony.

Bruce took charge of checking Steve over while Tony helped patch up Barton and listened to Natasha's account of the mission. It turned out things had actually gone pretty well, despite Steve's current condition. Someone had gotten in a lucky shot on Steve while Natasha and Barton were still undercover, and Barton managed to bust Steve out before they got around to interrogating him, while Natasha recovered the stolen tech they'd gone in for in the first place. All illusions of stealth were shattered on the way out, and Clint's shoulder had been grazed by two separate bullets, but the primary objectives were still met. "Good enough for government work," Clint said with a one-armed shrug as Tony finished taping down his bandage. He rolled his eyes at Bruce's suggestion that he'd be out of commission for a week or so. "I'll take the weekend off, but only because my Lord of the Rings extended edition boxed set showed up yesterday. Did you know Coulson has only seen the first one? It's a fucking travesty."

By the time Barton was patched up, Steve was looking pretty rough. He'd clearly gone past "happy, giggly drunk" and into "help, the room is spinning," and Bruce suggested he might be more comfortable if he were sedated while his body metabolized the drugs. Steve refused for almost 20 minutes, but then he went visibly pale and spent a while dry-heaving over a trash can, and he agreed that maybe sleeping it off was a good plan after all.

Bruce hooked him up to an IV and explained everything he was doing in a steady, soothing voice. They'd had to work out a drug cocktail that would keep Steve sedated last month after an incredibly surreal encounter with a pair of dreamwalking mutants with a superhero obsession and no respect for personal boundaries. It had taken Bruce and Tony several days of testing, but they'd ended up with something that would keep Steve under as long as he was hooked up to a drip, and would wear off almost instantly when it stopped. That had been a hell of a victory, and if Tony had been in Phase Two of Operation Seduce Bruce Banner at the time, he may well have risked a congratulatory kiss.

Tony watched from across the room, poking halfheartedly at JARVIS's ongoing chemical analysis of Steve's blood. So far it looked like there wasn't any serious danger; they still needed to work out exactly what had been used, but there didn't seem to be any likely effects beyond temporary disorientation and severe lowering of inhibitions. Bruce double-checked the IV line, then rested a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Just take a few deep breaths for me, okay?" Steve did, shakily at first, but Bruce joined him and he quickly steadied out. Within 30 seconds, Steve's eyes were closed, his face slack. Bruce's hand remained on Steve's shoulder for a little while longer while he fiddled with the monitor above Steve's bed, making sure the correct vitals were being recorded. Satisfied with the results, Bruce looked down at Steve once again, lifted his hand from his shoulder...and gently brushed a stray lock of blonde hair from Steve's forehead before he turned and wandered back to his workstation.

Well. _That_ was odd.

Tony opened a new window and punched in a few numbers, setting JARVIS to the task of another chemical analysis while he watched Bruce work. After Bruce had been staring off in Steve's direction with a glazed expression for almost a minute, Tony finally ventured over to his side of the lab. "Something on your mind, Big Science?" he asked, holding out the bag of trail mix. 

Bruce didn't startle, just blinked softly at Tony with a neutral smile. "Hmm? Oh, no. Nothing important."

Tony gestured again with the trail mix, and this time, Bruce dipped his hand in to take some. "'Nothing important' isn't nothing. What's got you distracted?"

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table while he looked back at Steve and chewed thoughtfully. "It's humbling," he finally said, his voice mild. "I know more about the composition and effects of the serum than probably anyone else alive, but to see him...to see the product of that research done right, it only serves to show me how little I actually understand. How little I ever understood."

Tony snorted. "From what I've read of Dr. Erskine's research, what you see on that table is as much a product of happenstance as genius. My old man showed up with the right radiation at the right time; Steve showed up with all his..." Tony gestured vaguely at the supersoldier on the exam table "...Steve." Tony tipped the last of the trail mix into his mouth and crunched it noisily for a moment before going on. "A lot of lucky shots lined up at once to make all that happen. No need to feel humble just because you didn't win that lottery, too."

"I suppose so," Bruce said, his eyes still fixed on Steve. "But even if you chalk it up to fortune instead of science, it's still humbling. Just in a different way. Taken out of the realm of science, it becomes a work of art."

Tony laughed, sharp and rough. "Well, he certainly is that. I gotta say, though, this is all a little existential, even for you."

"Maybe," Bruce said with a low chuckle, then snapped out of his reverie and straightened. "I need to check his vitals again," he said, rising from his chair with a hand on Tony's arm to steady himself. Tony looked down, fascinated, at the point of contact. Bruce was not typically prone to incidental touching, and the weight of his hand was unfamiliar, but somehow managed to be comfortable against Tony's arm. This wasn't a calculated, practiced touch, like the ones Tony had been rationing out these last weeks; it was completely thoughtless and devoid of meaning, and _that_ was, in itself, extremely meaningful. Tony stared down at his arm, lost in thought, for several seconds after Bruce had left his side to check on Steve again.

Tony went back to his workstation and opened up the second analysis he'd run. It was nearly finished, and the results were already pretty clear. He pressed his lips into a hard line and watched Bruce finish checking over Steve. Bruce's fingertips were pressed to Steve's wrist, his lips moving silently as he counted the beats of his pulse, and after he set Steve's hand back down, he trailed his fingertips up Steve's arm on the way to the monitor at the head of the bed.

A chime sounded as Tony's analysis finished, and he sighed, sending the results over to Bruce's workstation. As Bruce wandered back towards it, Tony joined him, resting a hand (maybe a little self-indulgently) on his shoulder. "You feeling okay, Bruce?" he asked gently. "You're looking a little flushed."

Bruce raised his fingers to his cheek. "Am I? I feel fine."

"You're sure?" Tony asked, trying to keep his voice from dripping skepticism. "Because you're acting a little spacey, and I've got something you should really look at, and I kind of need to be sure you're firing on all cylinders."

Bruce's expression was genuinely baffled. "Yes, I'm sure. What's going on?"

Tony walked him back to his workstation with a hand at his elbow. It may have been his imagination, but it felt like Bruce leaned in slightly towards him. A few hours ago, Tony would have considered that a major victory. As Bruce sat down, Tony opened the chemical analysis for him. "Look at that. Tell me what you're seeing."

Bruce's eyes scanned the results, his brow furrowed. Only a few seconds later, realization dawned on him, and his mouth dropped open slightly as he skimmed over the rest of the report. "Oh," he said, quietly.

"Yeah. He's not metabolizing the drugs..."

"...he's _shedding_ them," Bruce finished, glancing down at his hands. "I should--I should have been wearing gloves," he said, his voice very small. He shook himself, scratched his head as he thought. "Diazepam can be absorbed through the skin; so can fentanyl. What were the other compounds we've identified so far? There were twelve, where's the list?" Bruce shook himself again and opened one of his own files. "He can't have been shedding long; no more than an hour or two. Clint and Natasha probably aren't--we should maybe check them anyway, but--" An edge of panic was creeping into his voice as he glanced quickly from one document to another, calculating at lightning speed. "Tony," he said unsteadily, "have you--"

Tony shook his head. "I haven't touched him since we helped him with his uniform when he got here. I left all that messy stuff to you."

"Good, good," Bruce said, nodding. Suddenly his eyes went wide. "But you've been touching me."

"You noticed, huh?"

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Kind of hard to miss, Tony. You're not exactly subtle." Before Tony could think too hard about what _that_ might mean, Bruce groaned and rubbed his temples. "Okay. Okay, exposure was about four hours ago, so we're talking probably at least two hours before shedding reaches measurable levels. That's assuming my metabolism reacts the same way, though--the differences in our biology have been an issue before. If my white blood cell count is--" He shook himself again, almost as if he was trying to keep himself awake. "I need to...I need to test...."

"Hey," Tony said, taking Bruce by the shoulders and turning him gently. "Deep breaths. We've got some time. We've got some other stuff to figure out first. Look at me." Bruce's eyes were wide and wild, flickering unfocused over Tony's face. He blinked several times, shook his head, blinked again, and finally settled, his gaze locked on Tony's questioningly. "Good. How are you feeling?"

Bruce swallowed, understanding crossing his face. "Good," he said. "I'm...feeling good. A little loose; relaxed. But not out of control in any meaningful sense."

"And what's your opinion on the likely progression? I'm not seeing any immediate danger, but you're the expert in the squishy sciences, not me."

"No, I think you're right. Barring any serious tampering or allergic reactions, the only likely effects are sedation, confusion...lowered inhibitions." Was that a hint of a smile? "Poor impulse control, which might be a problem if I wasn't otherwise feeling fine. I've got nothing to be angry about at the moment."

"So, I should lay off the Game of Thrones spoilers for a while?"

Bruce snorted. "Please. I read the books years ago." He ducked out of Tony's grip, wobbled for the barest instant, and turned to gather supplies for a blood draw. Tony watched him lay everything out and begin the draw with a practiced ease that spoke of extensive experience with self-experimentation. He swayed gently and hummed as he filled two vials and smeared a drop on a slide that he immediately slotted into the microscope. A moment later, JARVIS had another analysis to run while Bruce peered into the microscope, making soft noncommittal noises at a second slide that contained a skin sample.

"I'm not shedding anything, as far as I can tell," Bruce finally said. "I don't know if it's because I'm metabolizing it differently, or if it's just because I got a lower dose. I think I'll have a better idea once this finishes," he said, tapping the edge of the monitor at his workstation. "But either way, you should be in the clear."

"So what I'm hearing here is I've got the doctor's approval to keep on being unsubtle and grabby," Tony said, grinning.

"That's not exactly what I said," Bruce said, knocking his shoulder gently against Tony's. "But yes."

This was skipping about fourteen steps in Tony's multi-phase plan, and a small part of him grumbled about wasted effort, but the rest of him told that part to shut the hell up and begin Phase Three. He reached for Bruce's hip and, with just the barest brush of his fingertips, turned Bruce to face him. Bruce had a hint of a smile on his face that looked almost smug, and Tony might have been a little offended if the soft curve of those lips wasn't currently short-circuiting every rational thought in his brain. He stepped closer, fingertips still resting delicately on Bruce's hip, and murmured, "tell me if I do anything you don't like."

"You won't."

Tony barely contained a shudder at the calm confidence in those words, and with as much grace as he could muster--which wasn't much--he closed the last inches of distance between them to press their lips together. 

Over the last few weeks, Tony had had time to form quite a few detailed and sometimes contradictory fantasies about his first kiss with Bruce. In some of them, Bruce was touch-starved after years of isolation, and a few seconds was all it took to transform him into a writhing mass of tongue and teeth, hands pulling at clothes with enough force to tear. In others, he was shy and hesitant, letting Tony take the lead and gently coax pleasure from him.

The reality was something entirely different. Bruce kissed with firm confidence, exploring Tony's mouth like he had hours to spare, then backing off to let Tony do the same, his hands working their way under Tony's shirt to make long, unhurried strokes up and down Tony's back while Tony's tongue darted inside Bruce's mouth, exploring and tasting. Bruce made a low sound in the back of his throat that went straight to Tony's cock. He pressed his hips into Bruce's, feeling the heat radiating off him. He had noticed Bruce's elevated body temperature before, but now, having his body so close, it was like a furnace, like being burned alive. If this was what it got him, he'd be willing to go down in flames.

Tony's hand came up to rest on the side of Bruce's neck, not grabbing, just resting there to soak up more of Bruce's radiant heat. Bruce almost instantly responded, leaning into the touch unselfconsciously, pressing his skin into Tony's palm. Tony slid his hand further back, curling his fingers around the back of Bruce's neck while his thumb rested on the pulse point, feeling the flutter below Bruce's skin. A light press, almost imperceptible, and Bruce was angling his head at Tony's slightest touch. It sent an electric thrill through Tony's chest, sharp and clear, and he groaned into Bruce's mouth. His hand slid up into Bruce's hair, tangling in the dark curls, fingertips stroking and pulling back to make way for the light drag of fingernails. Bruce gasped, breaking the kiss for a brief instant, and Tony dug his fingernails in, gripping and twisting to let Bruce feel his grip, but trying not to pull.

Bruce kissed back with renewed vigor, pressing against Tony with enough force to make him stumble slightly, catching himself on the edge of the table. His cock was hard, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, and he ached to relieve some of the pressure. The hand on Bruce's hip moved back to cup the curve of his ass, and Bruce gasped again, his hips rolling against Tony's so that he could feel Bruce's erection pressing against his. He wasn't going to last much longer like this, and he still had so much he wanted to do.

Tony let his hand fall from Bruce's hair, ignoring the small whimper of disappointment it caused, because an instant later Bruce was groaning again as Tony's hands worked at his belt, quick and desperate. It only took a few seconds to undo the belt and Bruce's pants, and he slipped a hand beneath Bruce's waistband to cup Bruce's cock, twitching with every brush of his fingertips.

"Oh god, Tony," Bruce said, his voice rough. "I've...it's been--"

"Shh," Tony said, squeezing Bruce's cock gently and watching the way Bruce's eyes rolled back. "I've got you." He began to stroke Bruce's cock, gently but with a firm brush of his thumb at the head on every upstroke. Bruce was shuddering in his arms, gasping, grabbing at his arms, his back, his ass. "It's okay," Tony said, "I've got you. Show me. I want to see."

Bruce's eyes flew wide and he locked gazes with Tony, and goddamn if _that_ wasn't the hottest thing he'd seen today, up to and including Bruce Banner's dick in his hand. "Tony," Bruce gasped, his breath hot on Tony's ear, "I can't--I need, I--"

Tony slowed his hand and leaned back slightly to take a look at Bruce's face, but Bruce followed with his body, his head dropping to rest solidly against Tony's shoulder. "What is it? Need me to go slower? Just tell me."

"No, it's--" Bruce's shoulders shook as he chuckled softly. "It's nothing," he finally said, a smile audible in his voice. "I'm fine, I just need to sit down. My legs are--this is distracting. I'm a little drunk, I think."

Tony grinned. "That, I can work with. Step back, right here," he said, guiding Bruce with a gentle hand on his hip, his other hand still down Bruce's pants, because Tony was not going to give up a single second of this if he could in any way help it. "Good, right there. Back, and...up." Bruce reached back to touch the edge of the table Tony had backed him against, and finally lifted his head from Tony's shoulder to give him a look that was part amusement, part skepticism. "Look, I could take you to my bedroom, but that's 12 floors up, and someone's got to watch the patient, right? Consider this a preview. A preview for a very long show. Extended edition, director's cut--I'm an artist, I won't leave you with the theatrical release."

Bruce huffed a quiet laugh against Tony's neck and hopped up on the table. "Not like it's the first time, I guess."

"Really? We're going to have to trade stories, because that's one I'd like to hear." Tony shifted, palming Bruce's cock again, which, he noted, had not softened one bit. "But later. Definitely later. Right now, lie back."

Bruce did, gently and with a small amount of shaking as he figured out his balance on the stainless steel work table. Tony finished opening Bruce's pants and nudged his hips up so he could work them down Bruce's legs. Bruce's chest rose and fell shakily as Tony took in the sight of Bruce's cock, heavy and flushed against his stomach. Tony looked Bruce directly in the eye and licked his lips slowly. Bruce's breath hitched.

That was more than invitation enough; Tony bent his head down to take Bruce in his mouth. Bruce gasped, his head falling back on the table with an audible thunk, and then giggled for a brief second before Tony swirled his tongue around the head of Bruce's cock and he groaned, long and low. Tony started a lazy pace, sliding his lips up and down with the same unhurried attention to detail with which Bruce had explored his mouth. He felt the wet slide of skin against his lips, and the hot pulse of Bruce's heartbeat when he pressed his tongue to the vein. Tony felt strangely at peace, like he could gladly spend all afternoon with Bruce's cock in his mouth, not hurrying or desperate, just feeling every inch of skin beneath his touch. He made a mental note: that was definitely something to do. Maybe tomorrow. He didn't have anything important going on tomorrow, he was pretty sure. Well, nothing he couldn't cancel.

Bruce's gasps became sharper, more uneven, and his hips jerked beneath Tony's touch. "Tony," he groaned, desperate, "I'm...I'm going to..."

Tony decided against lifting his lips enough to give a proper response, and instead hummed contentedly before swallowing Bruce's cock to the root. The choked noise he heard in response was thrilling beyond belief, and Bruce's hips shuddered beneath him as he came, hard, gasping broken syllables with his hands fisting in Tony's hair.

When Bruce's breathing evened out, Tony slowly withdrew, giving Bruce's cock one last lick, prompting a very satisfying full-body shudder from Bruce. He leaned back, surveying his work as Bruce blinked blearily at him. Then Bruce reached down, making feeble grabby motions at Tony's shirt--and why was Tony still dressed, anyway? That had to be a serious oversight, but he couldn't bring himself to be too concerned about it right at the moment. "Come here," Bruce murmured, his voice unsteady.

Tony paused for only the briefest moment, pondering the wisdom of putting the weight of two fully-grown men on the lab table, before deciding that there were far more important matters at hand, and anyway, Stark Industries had the funds to spring for the heavy-duty tables. 

Tony climbed onto the table and swung a leg over to straddle Bruce while Bruce's hands skimmed over his body like they were mapping new territory, like he was trying to memorize every curve and plane of Tony's body. His touches had a sort of desperation to them, like Bruce needed touch to ground himself. It wasn't the sort of direct goal-oriented intensity Tony was used to in bed--Bruce wasn't trying to tear his clothes off or get a hand down his pants, he was just trying to touch everything available to him, and Tony realized he was entirely okay with that.

Slowly, Tony worked his own shirt off as Bruce's hands roamed over his torso and down past his hips and back up again. Bruce groaned when his fingertips skimmed over bare skin, but his pace didn't pick up; he just re-mapped every inch of Tony's skin, just as he had with the shirt in the way.

Tony kissed Bruce, and got another groan in response. Bruce kissed back with clear hunger, licking and biting and testing for Tony's reactions. He sucked Tony's lower lip into his mouth and clamped down with his teeth, making Tony groan and arch, his neglected cock twitching against Bruce's hip while he tried desperately to keep his hands to himself.

Bruce's hands cupped Tony's ass and squeezed firmly, grinding their hips together. Tony couldn't help himself, he pressed forward, seeking more friction, and Bruce grinned against his lips, something wicked in his smile.

Slowly, but with undeniable strength, Bruce pushed Tony by the hips, guiding him over to lie back on the table next to Bruce. Bruce moved with him, fluidly, winding up straddling Tony's hips in a mirror image of their previous position. Calm, focused hands kept traveling over Tony's skin, and came down to rest on Tony's belt buckle for a brief moment as if asking for permission.

"God, yeah," Tony said, his voice not much more than a choked whisper. He let his head fall back and his eyes close as he felt Bruce's hands tugging firmly on the buckle, unfastening it with practiced ease. He bit down on his lower lip to keep quiet as he lifted his hips so Bruce could shimmy his pants down his legs. 

"Nice," Bruce said, his voice quietly appraising. He trailed a hand up Tony's thigh and dragged his fingers up the length of Tony's cock.

"So I've been told," Tony said, slightly frustrated that the words came out more hoarse and whispery than suave and irreverent. Bruce wrapped his fingers around Tony's cock and squeezed once, firmly, and Tony couldn't help the way his hips bucked up in response. Bruce held his hand still while Tony thrust into it, rough and uncoordinated, desperate for any sensation he could wring out of Bruce's presence, heavy and hot and perfect above him.

"Tony," Bruce murmured against his chest, "I need...would you..." He broke off in a frustrated groan, like he couldn't remember the words.

"Anything you want," Tony gasped, pushing into the tight circle of Bruce's hand. "God, Bruce, just say it. Anything. It's yours."

"I feel like...I think it's the drugs, but I feel like I'm going to die if I don't come." He raised himself off Tony's chest, and Tony got a good look at the full length of his body, flushed and sweaty, and _Christ_ , he was hard again. Bruce gave a sheepish smile and a sort of half-shrug.

"How do you want it? Hands? Want me to suck you again?"

"Would you, um," Bruce said, hesitating, "would you fuck me? Is that on the table?"

Tony patted the table's surface, grinning. "Table, floor, against the wall, wherever you want it, big guy." Bruce let out a quiet snort of laughter. "Seriously, that's about the furthest thing from a hardship I could possibly imagine right now. I had to give it some serious thought for about three tenths of a second, but that's only because there's not actually a bed here. C'mere," he said, grabbing a fistful of Bruce's shirt, then, "why are you still dressed? Never mind, not important." He dragged Bruce in for another kiss, deep and lingering, his tongue exploring the depth of Bruce's mouth while Bruce made soft needy sounds against him. "Shit," he said, breaking the kiss reluctantly, "pretty sure there's plenty of lube down here, but I don't have a condom on me. I'll have to go upstairs."

"That's not an issue for me if it's not for you," Bruce murmured, his breath hot on Tony's ear. "I get a clean bill of health every time the Other Guy takes over. I can wait if you still need to get one, though."

" _Jesus_ , Bruce," Tony said with a groan, the impact of Bruce's words slamming into him so hard he felt like his heart might stop. "I can't even--what is this, Christmas morning? _Fuck_ , yes, I'm in, let's do it."

Bruce rolled to the side and dug in the drawers of a supply cart for a frantic moment, sending bottles and instruments to the ground with a clatter, then came back with a tube of medical lubricant. Tony opened his mouth to make a crack about making do, but the words died on his lips at the look on Bruce's face. His lips were parted slightly, breath coming fast and shallow, and his eyes were wide and glazed with just the barest hint of green shimmering around the edges. He held out the tube. "Do you want to, or--"

Tony took the tube before Bruce could finish and unscrewed the cap with shaking fingers. He squeezed some onto his palm to warm it up, and with his other hand, guided Bruce back over him. Bruce swung his leg back over Tony, straddling his hips, and Tony reached back to stroke slick fingers over Bruce's hole while his other hand rested, trembling, on Bruce's hip.

Bruce gasped at Tony's touch, and groaned long and low when Tony slipped one finger inside him. Tony felt for a moment like he might come just from the feeling of Bruce, hot and clenching around his finger. He took a slow breath to gather himself, then began stroking in and out, mapping Bruce's reactions as he gradually relaxed around Tony's finger. When Bruce started rocking back against his hand, Tony added another finger, and Bruce's breathy gasps dissolved into long, low moans that made Tony's cock twitch, leaking precome with every new noise.

Tony fumbled for the lube again, grateful he hadn't bothered to put the cap back on. He managed to squeeze some on his free hand without making too much of a mess, and a moment later, wrapped a tight, slick fist around Bruce's cock. Bruce shuddered and rocked, thrusting forward into Tony's fist and then back onto his fingers, setting a desperate, stuttering rhythm. "Tony," he gasped, "please, I need--"

"Anything," Tony breathed. "Anything you want. Fuck, you're amazing. Just let me--" Bruce whimpered as Tony withdrew his hands, squeezing out another dollop of lube and spreading it on his leaking cock. He held the base to keep the right angle and nodded at Bruce, trying to keep his breathing steady as he gently guided Bruce back to line them up. Tony let out a sharp gasp as he felt the head of his cock brush the rim of Bruce's hole, and Bruce rocked back in response with a low groan. "God, yes, just like that. Slow as you need to, just, oh," he said, his eyes falling shut again as Bruce slowly, carefully lowered himself onto his cock, " _fuck_ yes, you feel amazing." He couldn't help the broken moan from escaping his lips as Bruce engulfed him in wet, tight heat. Bruce, above him, shuddered silently as Tony slid home.

Tony pinched his eyes shut, willing his body to stillness even though every muscle was screaming at him to move, to thrust, to bury himself in Bruce's body over and over again. He took in a slow breath, held it...and heard another sound. A soft, muffled intake of breath.

From across the room.

Tony's eyes flew open, and he twisted his neck to see Steve, lying still but definitely awake, watching them with clear blue eyes. _Shit._ A light blinked on the monitor above his head, a silent warning that it was time to administer more sedative. Why hadn't JARVIS warned them...oh, right. He fought back the absurd urge to smack himself in the forehead--JARVIS had standing orders to remain in silent mode if Tony was engaged in an...intimate encounter. He would have to question the wisdom of that policy later. But right now....

Steve flushed crimson, but didn't look away. A thin sheet covered his lower half, but Tony could see that one hand was under the sheet, unmoving but very clearly resting on his cock. Bruce, meanwhile, was frozen with Tony still buried inside him, his eyes wide and staring at Tony with undisguised panic. Tony could feel the man's pulse thundering beneath his skin, but said skin didn't show a trace of green, Tony noted with some small relief. He found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. What did this situation call for? An apology? _Sorry for fucking your doctor in your recovery room?_

Steve licked his lips, drew in a careful breath. Then he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, "don't stop."

Tony felt his cock jump, but Bruce didn't react, his entire body still rigid above Tony. Beneath the sheet, Steve's hand moved, slowly, deliberately, down the length of his cock. Steve's eyes fluttered but didn't quite close, and he spoke again, full of desperation. " _Please._ "

Bruce's gaze was questioning. Tony couldn't manage anything more than a short, sharp nod in response. Bruce pinched his eyes shut, pursing his lips like he did when he was mulling over a particularly complex equation, and then opened them again to look at Tony as he began to move.

Tony couldn't bring himself to care about the helpless moan that ripped from his throat as Bruce raised himself off Tony's lap and slammed back down again. His fingers dug into Bruce's hips, holding tight but letting Bruce set the pace. After only a few seconds, Bruce's breath began to come in short, broken gasps, and Tony promptly stopped caring about anything at all that wasn't this, right here--Bruce, hot and tight around his cock, warm and solid beneath his fingers, rocking against him and chasing his own pleasure. Distantly, he was aware that Steve was still watching, but then Bruce shifted his angle slightly and Tony had to devote that part of his brain to mentally reciting the periodic table to keep from coming immediately. His hips rose off the table of their own accord, meeting Bruce's thrusts on the downstroke, and he somehow found the presence of mind to wrap a hand around Bruce's cock and pump him in time with the rocking of Bruce's hips.

Bruce's movements were becoming erratic and desperate. His mouth formed the shape of Tony's name, but the only sound that came from him was short, sharp gasps. "Yeah, that's it," Tony said, his voice full of wonder. "Give it up. Let me see."

Bruce's eyes locked with Tony's, wide and shining, and he let out a long, breathy sigh as he came, shooting white strips across Tony's chest and clenching tight around Tony's cock, just shy of painful. From Steve's side of the room came the rustling of fabric and a low, "oh. _Oh!_ " and if Tony had been almost anywhere else, he would've relished the chance to see Captain America's O-face, but right now he had Bruce, hot and shuddering around him, and his body wouldn't let him do anything but grab Bruce tightly with both hands and fuck into him, hard and frantic. The table shook and rattled as Tony buried himself deep in Bruce's body one last time and came with a guttural shout, his vision going white around the edges but still filled with Bruce.

Tony's hands dropped to the table with a muffled _thunk_. "That was...wow. Just, wow. I might need a minute for language processes to come back online." Bruce chuckled softly, and Tony raised one hand up to his cheek. Bruce leaned into the touch, his eyes slipping closed. "You doing okay, big guy?"

Bruce nodded. "Awkwardness aside, yes. I'm doing very okay."

"Speaking of," Tony said, turning to look at Steve. He expected to see Steve staring fixedly at the ceiling, or maybe hiding under the sheet, or possibly just turning some as-yet-undiscovered shade of magenta, but instead, Steve looked back at him with clear blue eyes and a peaceful expression. At both of them. "How about you, Spangles? You feeling all right?"

Steve nodded. "Yes, I'm...much better now. Thank you." Then he flushed again, clearing his throat. "For everything."

Tony waved a hand in the air magnanimously. "Happy to help. Any time. Just not, you know, for an hour or so."

Bruce scrubbed a hand down his face, chuckling softly. "I'm, uh, going to clean up, and check on the patient." Tony raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Bruce sighed. "I'm not dignifying that with a response." He climbed somewhat gracelessly off the table and handed Tony a few paper towels from the nearbest hand wash station, then staggered towards the bathroom.

"So..." Tony said, grinning at the ceiling.

"We really don't need to talk about this right now," Steve said.

"Who said anything about _need_?"

"Or ever," Steve added, staring firmly at the ceiling.

"I mean, is this a new thing? Is the future's freewheeling sexuality corrupting a national icon, or were you always--"

"You _really_ don't need to finish that sentence."

Tony raised his hands in acquiescence, his grin as wide as ever. Later, then. After he had time to formulate a plan.

**Author's Note:**

> Come have feelings about superheroes with me [on tumblr!](http://perpetualwhim.tumblr.com)


End file.
